level_act33side_02_end

How tiny we seem when we stand beside the tracks of this ship.

Yes, it's a most impressive war machine.

With their bodies as barriers, the Nachzehrer halted its advance at a tremendous cost. The Banshee's shrieks, powerful enough to shatter consciousness, only managed to force the Leithanians to retreat below deck...

If not for the Catastrophe and the rough terrain in this valley—

We're so far behind, and time is running out.

Kazdel must have equally powerful weapons, if not more so.

All our previous attempts have failed...

A century ago, few believed we could build a nomadic city out of Kazdel, yet we did. If we are to catch up to them now, we cannot afford to take the conventional path.

We have word from the Damazti. The battleships on the horizon are slowing down.

Have they given up?

No, the Kurfürst's orders were to continue the pursuit, but the commander of the fleet ordered them to slow down.

They're concerned about the Catastrophes and the terrain. They've seen what happened to this ship.

At the current rate, we can expect to engage them at dusk.

We have bought enough time for Kazdel to retreat.

Theresa looks back at the two storms entwining on the wastes, trying to catch a glimpse of the city.

She sees nothing. Where is Kazdel now? Is it still moving through the storm? Are the people in the shelters safe?

The storms are converging. Our retreat has been cut off. A battle is inevitable... Theresis?

I never thought I'd see you lose focus on the battlefield.

What's that?

That's...

The storms rage, the young taunting the old.

The newborn storm slams into the dying storm to the war drums of thunder.

Roiling air currents clash and combine between the two storms...

Violence begets peace, and a passage appears where the storms converge.

Lightning flashes and thunder cracks.

A path through the storm.

The storm...

Let's go, Theresa. The storm has given us a path.

Those who survive through it will have another chance.

We'll do it together.

The Damazti Cluster passes their command to every Sarkaz present.

The warriors see their leaders walk into the storm side by side and follow with no hesitation.

The procession advances into the tempest, the strong supporting the weak, the brave encouraging the fearful.

Do you see that, Theresis?

Within the roar of the tempest, they seem to hear the voice from the snowstorm in that childhood dream.

They see—

...The prophecy.

The thin, cloaked figure turns at the sound of her voice and sees the storm-bound procession.

Theresis sees a child. Mist, gilded by the setting sun, shrouds her shoulders, rising and blending with the shrieking winds above.

He takes off his gauntlet and stretches his bare hand into the mist.

The mist dissipates, and in his bloodied hand is the stone blade that the child is holding.

(Slurring) Yew... argh! Gra... grab!

What are you doing here?

(Slurring) Hom. Yew... hom! Hom!

(Slurring) Yew! Came in! Home!

The child wrestles the blade from Theresis's hand and points it again at Theresis and the procession behind him.

There is no difference between man and beast to the child who grew up in the wastes.

You want to kill me?

(Slurring) Keel... kill you!

Nobody taught her how to speak. She simply emulates the sounds made by those who pass by.

...Theresis?

Theresis looks down silently at the thin figure.

Let me show you how to hold a knife.

(Slurring) You!

The child hesitates for a moment, before putting her knife in Theresis's outstretched hand.

(Slurring) ...Me. You! Bring, me... bring, me!

Theresis gazes into Theresa's eyes.

Prophecy.

'A sword to slay the regent king, a spear to pierce the royal ring.'

But they have never cared much for prophecy.

Very well.

Come with me. The home of the Sarkaz is not on the barrens.

'Do you have a name?'

'Name? Me.'

'From now on, you have a new name.'

'Ascalon.'

Ten days later...

The nomadic city of Kazdel, Kazdel

Look, doctor! The furnace has been relit!

Is it moving? The city's finally moving? Ouch...

Careful! Your wounds might open again...

I've got to go to the furnace. The furnace burns again, and Kazdel still sails...

The Leithanians didn't manage to kill us!

Oh, er, I didn't mean you, doctor.

Come with me to see it. You deserve the same honor as the warriors who survived.

But... I'm not Sarkaz.

You people are heroes, too.

Come watch Their Highnesses command the Goliath to support the leaning furnace! Watch the sparks fly when iron hammers beat upon the broken core!

Hear the elegy of the Banshee, and witness the final journey of fallen heroes when they enter the furnace to fuel it!

This used to be an occasion that only the Sarkaz could see.

I would love to go, but there are still a lot of wounded to treat.

Alright, tell you what, I'll bring back a couple bottles of booze and some fresh fruit, and we'll...

You're not allowed to drink! And who the heck drinks in a medic tent?

Come on, it's just a little flesh wound.

No means no! It's your Oripathy that's the problem! Not to mention you're a terrible drinker.

When did you ever see me drink? Oh, that time when I was drunk and came to you with a bunch of Oripathy bombs.

Look, that was the only time in all these years. You know I can't afford booze.

*sigh* I can't stop you... why don't you go yourself?

Won't be the same without you.

But... I'm a Leithanian...

And? Do you support those nobles who profit off war?

I ran away from home because I couldn't stand them!

There you have it. Hm? Wait a second. You say you ran away from home? Were you noble—

No!

I was kind of thinking, your equipment doesn't look like it's from Babel—

—Well, I won't speculate. It does nobody any good.

So, you can go on your own.

I doubt the soldiers on the front lines would get along with a Leithanian...

When I saw the Leithanians string my father up by a sewer entrance to humiliate him, I never imagined I could befriend a Caprinae doctor either.

Back then, the only people who showed us any kindness were poor, Infected, or both.

Right, enough of the sad stuff. Be back in a jiffy.

Seriously, since when did the Sarkaz become so glib-tongued with me?

I wonder if this count as progress, Theresa...

In any case, Kazdel is moving again. Things will get better.

Back already? Well, it's about time you laid down—

Oh, sorry, I thought you were someone else.

Wait, your wounds are really bad... nobody treated your Arts burns?

The Leithanians did it. My son's dead. They burned him alive before my very eyes. I was the only one who lived.

...At least let me see your wounds.

They burned him alive. He was screaming. They used Arts to hang him in the air, for everyone to see.

My brothers are dead. My captain is dead. The Leithanians stood on the high ground, their raised staffs looked just like...

With bloodshot eyes, the nearly deranged Sarkaz fixates on the doctor's staff abandoned in the corner.

The emblem of the home she had left behind hangs from the staff.

Like a real...

The doctor does not sense the hostility.

She lifts his top to inspect the wound, but feels a chill run up her spine.

You're armed...

Why didn't the guards check you...?

The light of the Soul Furnace lights up the night sky above Kazdel like the midday sun.

The fire's crackles echo like a mournful growl, a somber tribute to the fallen who have become its fuel.

All the Sarkaz set their eyes on the sky that night.

No one notices the light from one of the field hospital's windows go out.

Your Highness?

Why was I brought here...? Oh, yes, I have good news to report...

What news?

We won.

We defeated the Leithanians, Your Highness. Me, my son, and the Blue Blood Squad. We won, we won...

Are you not glad, Your Highness? Were we too slow...?

Blake! My son, bring me the battle plan! Son! Son?

Sorry, Your Highness, I don't know where my son went...

You killed a doctor, one who has served Kazdel for years, treating Oripathy patients.

Kazdel? Doctor? No, you misunderstand, your Highness.

I only fight Leithanians.

Have you read his emotions, Theresa?

Pain, confusion, madness. He has driven himself mad to escape the painful memories.

He doesn't even know what crime he committed.

The others do.

The guards discovered him brawling with another Sarkaz amid shattered casks of liquor, which ignited and spread fire throughout the field hospital.

All await the King's response. But you cannot be the one to do it.

Leave it to me.

Your Highness! General! I gave my all to defeat the Leithanians!

Was I wrong to do so? Your Highness!

Take him away.

...His name is Logan, given to him by his mother, who was one of the first Babel engineers.

He hardly uses any Arts, but the guards were hypnotized by Arts. Someone is behind this.

The Military Commission will not investigate the Sarkaz for the sake of an outsider, not after they've just been through another ordeal.

Neither should Babel.

We have no choice. The war has just ended.

Babel should withdraw from military and political affairs, at least for the time being.

You know that's not what Babel is about in the first place.

I do, but many don't.

I will define the parameters for Babel's activities. Babel members will continue to serve Kazdel's medical, educational, and technological needs from this area.

The Military Commission will continue to protect them. But we must make every effort to avoid conflict.

There will come a day when the repressed hatred boils over, and even we will be powerless when that day comes.

Kazdel is in urgent need of a change. We have to solve the Originium problem... soon.

But even that won't solve all our problems.

I know.

I've always known.

There you are, Ascalon.

What have you seen in this city?

Deth... People cry... People die.

Cry? Cry... tears?

Theresis stretches out his hand. A delicate stone knife lies in its palm.

Knife! My...

Keep it safe. A warrior should treasure her weapon.

I will teach you how to sharpen your blade.

But it's up to you to decide whom it cuts.

You're too impatient, Theresis. She's not ready to understand these things yet.

She has to understand, sooner or later.

Maybe. But for now, what we should do is give the frightened child a little bit of peace. Do you like this city, Ascalon?

Compared to the armored general, Ascalon does not like this Sarkaz woman crouched before her.

She seems to see through all of her thoughts, leaving no secrets—a most dangerous thing in the wastes.

But she cannot bring herself to be hostile to this gentle Sarkaz.

I...

No need to be afraid. You know I don't mean you any harm. Come, touch my horn. We're the same.

...Warm, here.

Warm, me.

Yes, warm. Hatred and killing are not the only way to solve a problem.

(Slurring) Way? Probem?

Theresa says no more. It is difficult for a girl who has known nothing but the wastes to understand certain words, even with the help of the King of Sarkaz.

She takes Ascalon's hand.

It's like the wound on your palm. Weapons can't heal it. Only time and medicine can.

Aw!

It's okay. I've cleaned your wound. You'll need to take care of it.

Be patient. One day, you'll wake up and find that it doesn't hurt anymore.

...Yeah!

Babel Classroom, Kazdel

...No one. Here.

We'll wait a little longer. It's not lesson time yet. They'll come—

Look, it's Theresis.

Casualty report from the Military Commission. There are many children, most of them students.

The ones that lived...

Their parents are no longer willing to let the outsiders of Babel teach them.

Plus, if memory serves, many of Babel's teachers have already left out of fear.

You're troubling yourself too much with trivial matters, Theresa. You need to rest. We still have to—

I want to wait a little longer, Theresis.

...Very well.

He does not leave. The classroom is eerily quiet.

Theresa closes her eyes and recalls the students who used to fill the classroom.

'They said we can get potatoes for coming to school!'

'I didn't understand that one, Your Highness. Do you have any simple stories?'

'You said you went to the outside with mercenaries when you were our age?'

'There's a sea between Sargon and Iberia? What's a boat? Why can't we go up on deck? Why would we throw up?'

'Leithanian spires? Are they like our furnace?'

'People who are nice to us? But Dad says there's no foreigners like that.'

'But the teachers here are nice to us!'

Students come and go. But she always managed to get them to return.

But this time, no one came.

Oh...?

General Theresis! Your Highness! I—

You!

The hilt of a stone knife hits the boy in the chest. Although unable to break free, the boy strains to look up at the tall, gaunt girl who has him pinned.

I saw General Theresis come this way. I just wanted to—

Theresa, Your Highness! You're here, too! This classroom... are you teaching?

Put down the knife, Ascalon.

...Your Highness!

You were looking for me?

Yes. I came to seek an answer for the children who lost their parents. I know the Military Commission will take care of them, as it took care of me...

But will this change anything? What if another war comes?

I want to change things, but I don't know what I can change, or what I should change.

The two rulers gaze upon the fearless child, each arriving at their own answer inside.

What's your name?

Manfred.

Dad, we've been standing at the door forever. Why can't we go in?

Mommy's hurt very badly. She needs some quiet to rest. We shouldn't bother her.

But I miss Mom...

Daddy misses her too, but not now... we'll go home together once I come back.

Where are you going, Dad?

I have to leave the city for a bit, to make the people who hurt Mommy pay.

Stay here with Mommy and wait for Daddy.

Can you stay, Daddy? We'll figure out a way to make Mommy better, I promise...

Do you like Mommy's name?

Odda... yes, it sounds very nice.

It's your name now.

But...

I'll teach you to fight the bad guys with Mommy's weapon once I get back.

Okay! I'll beat up the bad guys who hurt Mommy!

But will beating up the bad guys make her feel better?

You'll understand someday... Odda.

...I'll be back. Wait for me.

Goodluck turns around, toward the crystal-infested city wall.

The only thing left that ties him to this city is Odda.

Odda... and Odda.